November
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Augustus Rookwood hates November. He hates the weather, he hates the dreariness and most of all he hates the anxiety that comes with being a double-agent for the Dark Lord. Especially when said Dark Lord has been supposedly dead these past three weeks. But this particular day in November marks the day he and his family can finally breathe again...


**For Web: the one QLFC story that you haven't betaed.**

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 **QLFC** – **Keeper: Write about a tragic story on an autumn night**

 **Hogwarts Assignment #7: A Study Of Magical Healing - Write about a person that finds a way to breathe again**

 **Diwali: Naraka Chaturdasi - Krishna (God of compassion, tenderness and love)**

 **Buttons: (object) boots, (dialogue) chocolate makes everything better, (word) cascade**

 **Canada - Item: Cardigan**

 **Word Count: 2,776**

 **Thanks to The Lady Rogue and BlueRubyBeat for betaing!**

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 _Karkaroff crept across the halls of Riddle Manor_ – _the base of all Death Eater operations. It wasn't what he had been expecting. He had admired Grindelwald, believed in the Greater Good, and this new British Dark Lord seemed to carry on his idol's legacy. But the war had been going on for years, and they still operated in secrecy, still had to be wary of their fellow Death Eaters, still had to fear the wrath of their master._

 _Karkaroff had had enough._

' _Did you bring the information I asked for?' The familiar voice, smooth and sleek, like the scales of his pet snake, brought Karkaroff to a halt, terror binding him to the spot as surely as any Body-Bind curse._

' _It is said that there has been a prophecy,' replied a different voice, one that Karkaroff had never heard before. It was deep and rough, the voice of a_ real _fighter. 'One that could cause your downfall, if realised. It is being transferred to the Department of Mysteries as we speak.'_

' _Excellent work, Rookwood. Find this prophecy, find out what it says, and report back once you have answers.'_

 _The door opened, and Karkaroff slunk into the shadows, his throat constricted as the visitor paused in front of him to fasten his travelling cloak. As he apparated away Karkaroff caught a glimpse of the deep blue robes that marked the man as an Unspeakable._

* * *

Augustus Rookwood hated the rain. It cascaded from the heavens in rivulets, each drop blending into the next until they formed one continuous line from the sky to the ground, soaking the Unspeakable in the process. It was barely eight o'clock, but night had already fallen, the rain refracting the little light left so that he could only see the sheen of water in the dark.

His boots were heavy, weighing him down like rocks as he trudged along the path home. Small pebbles crunched with each step he took, and he didn't even bother avoiding the puddles. There was no point; he couldn't get more wet than he already was.

His cloak stuck uncomfortably to his robes, creating an unpleasantly warm and humid sensation down his back, but at the same time it felt as though the chill had made its way into his very bones.

Whenever he dared lift up his head, the cool water clung to his lashes, sending the rain trickling down his face like tears whenever he blinked, so he spent most of his time staring at the ground. Still, he needed to know where he was going, so he paused, trying to regain his bearings.

He always got lost between the two dirt tracks, so alike and yet with no signpost, and he couldn't bear to ask a Muggle for directions. The pitying looks they sent him as their cars zoomed past, nearly blinding him with their lights, were torture enough. He wished that he could cast a simple Repelling Charm, or even a Heating Charm, though that might just make matters worse. More than that, he wished he could have simply Flooed or Apparated home, but that would have put them all in danger.

A little rain was nothing compared to Azkaban. And Azkaban was nothing compared to the Dark Lord's wrath if he thought his followers had abandoned him.

Shaking his head to clear the hair from his eyes was demeaning, but Augustus's hands, buried deep within his pockets, were the only part of his body that was still dry, and he clung to that sensation like a Bowtruckle to its tree.

Yes, Augustus Rookwood hated the rain. In fact, he hated November, and everything that came with it. The English rain, the fluctuating temperatures, the way _everyone_ at work seemed to have a cold, the lengthening days. Thankfully it would be winter soon, the season when everything was stripped away and allowed to start anew.

When his family would be able to start anew.

A muted light caught his eye, interrupting his melancholic thoughts. Realising it was their cottage, he sped up, ignoring the squelch of his socks in his boots, the way the added weight of the rain made him waddle instead of run. He would be home soon, and all would be well.

Just as he fumbled with his wand, his hands numb from the chill, the wooden door opened and a gust of warm air greeted him like a lover's kiss. He sighed in relief, quickly entering and shutting out the rain for good.

'How was it?' Margot asked, her honey-brown eyes wide with worry as she helped him out of his wet clothes.

 _She does not deserve this life,_ Augustus thought, not for the first time.

His wife was one of those rare people who truly listened to the people around them, and seemed to know exactly what to say to make them feel better. The Margot he fell in love with would return from St Mungo's, exhausted after a full day's work, but still had time to pick fresh wildflowers before dinner, no matter the season.

He paused before replying, gently brushing her dark blond hair back behind her shoulder with one hand. It was brittle, as fragile as glass, where once it had been thick and lustrous. The war had taken something out of them all, but he alone was the one who had taken the spark out of Margot's eyes.

'I've checked and checked. There's no possible evidence that would lead me back to the Dark Lord. And there's nothing that links me to the work the Aurors have done to round up the last of the Death Eaters. I am but a simple Ministry employee who had removed his family from harm's way in the height of a war.'

Margot relaxed visibly, her shoulders losing some of their tension. She smiled, a warm smile that seemed to not dim the fire crackling in the hearth, but instead amplified it. On an impulse, Augustus leant down to kiss her, careful not to drip water everywhere as he steadied himself with one hand against her cheek. She returned the kiss eagerly, though she broke it every few seconds as she smiled again.

Eventually, they separated, but Augustus lingered for a while to look into his wife's eyes, to see the hope blossom and the fear evaporate with the rain from outside.

'I'll go and change,' he said eventually, releasing her from his arms. Somehow, they had ended up pulling each other closer than necessary, and as a result Margot's cardigan was slightly damp. 'You should put on a jumper if you don't want to catch a cold.'

Margot's laugh echoed in his ears as he climbed the spiralling stairs to the upper floor of their cottage, a reminder that colds used to be the least of their problems.

 _Not anymore,_ he thought proudly. The war was over, for better or for worse, and November was nearly over too. Soon, the Aurors would have all the Death Eaters behind bars, and he would be free from the constant worry of reprisal from anyone and everyone.

'Daddy!' a young voice shrieked, as a cannonball radiating with joy jumped into his arms.

Augustus caught his daughter easily, moving his head back to look at her properly. Cassandra was the real reason for their ostracisation from society, for their life without magic for the past three years. He couldn't bear for either side of the war to use his precious daughter, to harm her as he had seen countless children be harmed in the conflict. So, their location had been hidden, Margot had quit her job as a Healer, ostensibly to look after Cassie, and Augustus's knowledge of wards gleaned from his years at the Department of Mysteries had finally come in useful.

'Will you read me a story tonight?' Cassie asked, as if it were the single most important thing in the world. 'It's my bedtime,' she added reproachfully as an afterthought, informing him of his recently neglected duty.

Augustus's heart caught in his throat. Had his nights really been so late that Cassie thought he had forgotten about her? One look at her large eyes, so much like her mother's, swimming with unshed tears, told him that she did.

'Of course I will, cupcake,' he replied, his voice slightly hoarser than usual. _I'll make it up to you, Cassie,_ he promised inwardly, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he turned to the pragmatic issue of his wet clothes. 'Why don't you go and pick something out, and I'll be there in a moment.'

'Okay.' Cassie had barely finished speaking before she had jumped out of his arms, running back to her room to pick out her favourite story.

'She'll be a Slytherin, no doubt about that,' Rookwood muttered to himself, watching her curly brown pigtails bob with every step. 'Just like her mother.'

* * *

'...For one moment, the warlock knelt triumphant, with a heart clenched in each hand; then he fell across the maiden's body, and died,' Augustus finished, closing the book and placing it upon the mantelpiece.

When Cassie didn't at first reply, he thought she had fallen asleep. After all, it had been a strange choice of tale. He had personally never liked it, because he never understood why the Warlock would go to such lengths to not fall in love in the first place. However, when he bent down to check, her brow was creased in concentration.

'Why does everyone else get a happy ending, but the Warlock and the Maiden don't?' she asked eventually. 'Isn't he allowed to have made a mistake?'

Augustus stared at his daughter for a moment. She was seven years old, with all the innocence that came with her age, but sometimes she showed a wisdom beyond her years. _Maybe she'll be a Ravenclaw, like me._ The thought cheered him, but Cassie's insistent look told him that it wasn't a rhetorical question.

'Sometimes, you can't make up for your mistakes,' he told her, trying to condense his thoughts without lying. He lied enough for his job, was in fact very skilled at it, but he wanted his daughter to be free, to be brave, to be everything he and Margot were, and everything they were not. 'Sometimes, a mistake is irreversible, and you have to live with the consequences.'

'What if the Warlock ate chocolate? That works against the Dementors,' Cassandra reasoned, sitting back with a satisfied nod. 'Chocolate makes everything better.'

'That is true,' Augustus conceded. It was a proven fact that chocolate worked against most forms of dark magic, on top of the general health benefits it granted to the eater. His thoughts turned to the stress and burden of the past years, the constant fear of being discovered and the sleepless nights that came as a result. 'But chocolate sometimes just isn't enough.'

'Will it be enough for you and Mummy?' Cassandra asked, turning to face her father with a look of concern that shouldn't belong on a seven-year-old's face.

'Chocolate and cupcakes, that's all we need!' he replied, deciding that that was it for the night. He rolled off the bed and tucked her in, putting her head under the duvet. 'Now, bed time, little lady! Don't you try to stay up late, or your Mum will have my ears. You can't grow back ears with chocolate, can you?'

A giggle emanated from the covers, and Cassandra fought to pull her head out from underneath. She laughed again and pretended to breathe in great gulps of air, as if she had been suffocated.

'Silly Daddy.' She shook her head. 'You don't _grow_ ears back with chocolate. You have to get chocolate ears that are already made! Chocolate doesn't _grow_.'

Just as Augustus was about to reply, three large knocks resonated at the front door. All the joy fled from his face as a sinking feeling knotted itself into the pit of his stomach.

'Maybe it's the Dementors,' Cassie whispered, giggling again before clasping her hands to her mouth.

 _I was so careful_. Augustus felt his throat constrict, his new-found freedom as short-lived as the leaves on a tree.

Cassandra got out of bed, putting her hand on the doorknob.

'No,' Augustus said firmly, his voice shaking from the effort of keeping his tone even. 'Stay here, Cassie.'

 _How did they find me?_ He went through his carefully laid plans. Where had they gone wrong? Where had he been careless?

'Department of Magical Law Enforcement, open up!' The voice boomed through the cottage, removing all hope of being able to deal with it quietly.

Augustus's eyes flew to Cassandra, who silently held his gaze, challenging him to tell her to go back to bed.

'Stay here,' he said, knowing that she wouldn't listen to him, but hoping she would comply anyway.

 _Please don't arrest me. Not in front of my daughter. Not in front of Cassandra._ The government wasn't holding trials. It simply threw people in Azkaban, whether they were guilty or not. Barty Crouch Jr. had received a trial, but Barty Crouch Jr. was the Department Head's son. The Department Head that hated Unspeakables and every secret they represented.

'Augustus?' Margot called, and her voice wavered. He had been standing there for too long already.

With a deep breath, he opened the door, walked down the stairs and into the waiting arms of his fate. He had thought he had escaped, he had thought he was free, but it had been nothing but an illusion.

In the living room stood Emmeline Vance and John Dawlish, the door wide open as the rain and wind came pouring through. Margot was still standing in the doorway, soaked to the bone, her eyes locked on his as she cried. It had been part of the plan, to make her seem like an innocent if he was ever captured. The rain washed away her tears, leaving only an expression of shock that resonated deep within his soul.

 _I'm never seeing Margot again,_ he realised.

'Augustus Rookwood, you stand accused of collaborating with the self-styled Lord Voldemort. The evidence against you is compelling enough that we must escort you to Azkaban immediately. Anything you say can and will be held against you,' Dawlish recited in a monotonous voice.

Conjured ropes tightened across Augustus's body, restricting his breathing and cutting into his arms and legs so tightly they ripped into the fabric of his pyjamas. He fell to the floor, feeling the hard slap of wood against his skull, unable to break his fall.

 _Stay silent, Margot, please stay silent._

If she pleaded for him, who knew what would happen to Cassandra?

'Daddy!'

His daughter's voice, her pure, unadulterated worry seemed to cut through his heart. He had resolved to go quietly, but he couldn't help the despair that welled up from deep inside him, escaping in the form of a choked sob.

'What are you doing to him? Daddy!' Cassandra's voice was insistent, and she raced into Augustus's vision to pull at Vance's sleeve.

'Your father is a very bad man,' the woman said quietly, pushing Cassandra away. 'We're taking him away.'

'You're better off without him anyway,' Dawlish scoffed, aiming a kick at Augustus's shin. 'You wouldn't believe what kind of evil he's done.'

'Leave her alone,' Margot spoke, her voice harsh for the first time in Augustus's memory. She pulled Cassandra away from Vance, and in doing so pulled her out of Augustus's line of sight.

This time, he managed to keep his emotions reined in, but tears cascaded down his cheeks at the thought of leaving his family. He could only hope that Cassandra couldn't see.

'He at least deserves a trial!' Cassandra shouted. 'Mummy, tell them!'

'What has my husband done to deserve this? What did he do?' Margot asked, the very picture of a confused wife that had been misled.

'He colluded with the Dark Lord himself. We have a witness who can testify, so there's no point in bringing this to a trial. He'll live out his days in Azkaban, and of course, you will be allowed to visit,' Vance replied, her tone smooth and tired, as though she had been through this already.

'We don't want him weaselling his way out of a sentence like Malfoy, do we?' Dawlish asked, roughly grabbing Augustus's collar as he prepared to Apparate.

'But Daddy isn't bad,' Cassandra wailed. 'It's not fair!'

But what Cassandra's next argument was, Augustus would never know, as the familiar sensation of Apparition washed over him.

Suddenly, he could see why the Warlock would want to remove his heart for all of eternity.


End file.
